He was named for his father, but he went by his middle name because the legacy he was unwillingly a part of was too difficult to bear.
He never knew his father, but he knew of him was enough to chill his blood, and hope that someday he’d wake up from a life-long nightmare.
His mother once loved the man, but it didn’t take long for his dark side to show through. She was unaware how far his deeds truly went, but the charming, caring man she’d fallen for melted away, and a hard, controlling man remained.
She’d done the best she could to please him, but she refused to raise their son to become like his father. His grandparents helped her escape and spirited her and their grandson thousands of miles away. They were safe, but would they be able to truly escape his dark shadow?
He knew none of this as a child. His childhood was one of love, care, and innocence, but that innocence was shattered when he walked into school one day when he was ten years old.
Some boys in his class were talking about a bad man, a muderer who had his name, and was now part of a famous trial. He went home crying that day, and his mother told him the truth.
His father was a bad man, he was on trial for murder, but they were safe, and what his father became did not change who he was or who he would be.
He did his best to forget the man who fatherered him, but the doubt and fear was always there. His innocence was long gone, but he was doing all he could to make his mother proud and be the man his father never was.
Genetics and a name wouldn’t ruin his life, but the man himself refused to let go. They were safe thousands of miles away, but mail could still reach them.
The letters started coming on his eighteenth birthday. Foolishly thinking they might be letters of reconciliation, explanation, or regret, he opened the letters and read them. What he found in those letters shook him to the core, and frightened him beyond measure.
These letters were written to glorify his crimes, and paint him as a hero and not the monster he really was. He believed as no one else did, that sharing his name meant his son should share much more than that.
The letters piled up unread, but he could not escape the damage they’d already done. He would never become his father, but he would never be able to make peace with what he’d done.
Piles of ashes and his middle name protected him, but he longed for the peace and innocence that was taken from him too soon.
Scribble City: Write Now 